Jack & Tollers: A Rag Man (Episode 8)

Read Episode 7 here.

Whoops! I missed a week of Jack & Tollers. I could make all sorts of excuses and give all sorts of very good reasons for leaving Jack stuck in indecision, but I'll just go with a peace offering: a video of how I put together the Jack & Tollers cover art.

Episode 8
A Rag man

​Romeo combed his fingers through his hair and said, “Oh, I don’t know. Something light and carefree and appealing like… Well, air-skill. Yes, I think that would be rather fun.”

“Air-skill?” Jack glanced toward his former teammate.

“All things pertaining to air. Wind, breathing… That sort of thing. What are you choosing?”

“Given that you and I are polar opposites, I might as well choose earth-skill. I like my feet firmly on the ground, thank you. None of this light and airy stuff.”

Romeo extended a hand. “I do wish you the best of luck, Jack—although I expect to take home the prize myself.”

“I wish you the best of luck as well,” Jack said, and meant it. “But you’re wrong about the prize’s destination. It’s coming home with me.”

“We shall see,” said Romeo, with a twinkle in his perfect eyes.

“Contestants!” the bullfrog bellowed. “In this last competition, you must cross the field into the castle and defeat the dragon with whatever skills you possess and whatever weapons you can create. My only advice: Rearrange A Rag Man. Good luck!”

With that, he gestured toward the shining doorway that Jack remembered from the First Trial. Remembering the earlier headlong rush into trouble, the wary competitors (those who had survived Medusa’s maze) passed through the doorway with caution. As Jack stepped through, an odd rushing, tingling sensation passed through his body as the magic doorway literally wrenched him from one location to another, very different location.

Jack surveyed the area and, to his surprise, discovered a scarecrow-like figure standing in the midst of a field as though waiting just for the contestants. A Rag Man. Well, that was too obvious. Must be some trick to it. What was Tollers up to?
​
Unless it was an evil contestant-eating zombie Rag Man, it couldn’t hurt to ask it to explain itself. Jack reached the Rag Man first, since the other contestants, including Romeo, did not appear interested in being the first to approach the mysterious creature.

​“Are you the Rag Man?” Jack asked.

“No. I am A Rag Man,” replied the figure from a mouth that Jack could not distinguish amongst the various patchwork facial features.

“So there are more of you?”

“No, I am the only one.”

Jack reviewed his understanding of definite and indefinite articles in English and came up empty. “I don’t understand.”

“Rearrange A Rag Man, and you will.” A light breeze fluttered A Rag Man’s threadbare clothing. (Or was it his threadbare self?) Then, raising his voice, he announced, “Your time starts now!”

Rearrange? Was A Rag Man’s body some kind of puzzle that should be arranged in another configuration? Somehow that seemed hideous, to tear apart the creature. Would it survive the rearrangement?

It was clear that the other contestants had the same thought, for several of them started forward, intent on ripping apart A Rag Man. Jack leapt forward.

“Tap! Sit! Ow!” he shouted. The contestants immediately tapped their foreheads, sat down, and shouted, “Ow!” in surprise as they discovered that they had sat on thistles.

Then A Rag Man said clearly in Jack’s voice, “Wait! Stop!”

Jack stared blankly. “Wait! Stop!” was exactly what he had intended to say, but “Tap! Sit! Ow!” was what had come out of his mouth.

Jack’s mind was full of nothing but question marks and he half expected the Editor to show up to explain this ridiculous phenomenon. But the Editor did not show up, and one of the competitors leapt to his feet, outraged, and shouted, “A wordage hint, you!”

A Rag Man spoke in the man’s voice, “What are you doing?”

A wordage hint. Rearrange A Rag Man. Suddenly, Jack smiled and said to the raggedy figure, “A Rag Man.” And A Rag Man seemed to smile back as he said, “Anagram.”

Anagram. A word created from the letters of another word.

Jack set out across the field, but as far as he went, the castle whose serrated profile dominated the skyline never came nearer. One of the women passed Jack, running, but fifteen minutes later, she seemed no further ahead of Jack than a few yards.

Interesting. Clearly, the contestants needed something magical to boost them across the distance. But if the words he spoke could be rearranged to make people do things, could they also create things?

In the meantime, one of the contestants had lost his temper.

“Dust his tipis!” He fumed, and suddenly all the contestants found themselves surrounded by conical tipis, feather dusters in hand, furiously dusting.

A Rag Man interpreted solemnly, “This is stupid.”

As soon as Jack realized what he was doing, he dropped the duster and his tipi disappeared. Horror chilled his gut. One false word from one of the contestants could make them all drown themselves or cut each other to ribbons. But how could he explain anagrams to the others without creating the very situation he was trying to avoid?

But it appeared that one of them had realized their danger, for he shouted frantically to the others, “Spooked ant!”

A terrier-sized black ant suddenly emerged from a hole in the field and bolted past them, waving its antennae in a mad scramble to find safety.

“Do not speak,” advised A Rag Man, interpreting the contestant’s words.

The contestants scattered from one another, desperately seeking safety from each other’s words. Next time the product of their anagrams might be scarier and more dangerous than a spooked ant. Jack was grateful when he was at last out of earshot of the others. Now he had a chance to sit down and think.
​
After about five minutes, he nodded to himself and said deliberately, “Hellcat Treetop Totes.”

---

​Two large canvas totes appeared before him, adorned with the red-eyed graphic of a fanged black cat in a burning tree. A Rag Man stood in one of the totes and beckoned to Jack. “Teleport to the castle.”

Interesting. So his intended creation was also the anagram version of itself—both a teleport and a tote.

Jack was so elated that he forgot the importance of silence and exclaimed, “I’m a genius!” Well, that was what he meant to say. But what came out of his mouth was “Aiming Sue,” and the threat of her blaster gun and fierce expression sent Jack scrambling to his Hellcat Treetop Tote. He didn’t want to wait to find out if Aiming Sue also knew how to shoot.

Very funny, Tollers. Just wait until I escape your story and return to your living room. Killer anagrams, indeed!

The next thing he knew, Jack was hanging on to the handles of the tote as it careened through the air. The tote deposited him next to the castle, which crowned a steep hilltop overlooking the wide plains through which the other competitors still struggled. Climbing out of the tote, Jack made two circuits around the cluster of castle towers, observing the smoke that curled from one of the upper story windows.

Well, this was interesting. There was no door. How was Jack supposed to fight a dragon he couldn’t reach?

Jack puzzled over this for a time before suddenly he struck his forehead with his open palm. You’re an idiot, Jack. What did you choose earth-skill for? Why, of course you chose it so that you could stack the earth and stone against the castle to reach the upper-story window. The earth boiled at Jack’s feet, then shifted, pulling itself into a staircase of packed earth.

Jack decided, after some consideration, to climb the stairs now and decide upon a weapon when he had scoped out the dragon’s lair. Otherwise, he would run the chance of ordering a weapon that did not apply to the situation that he found.

He mounted the steps and, with a sudden burst, thrust himself through the narrow window and onto the floor, crouching below the smoke-level. Peering through the smoke, he could just descry an angular shape with the leathery wings and long, speared tail of a typical fantasy dragon. As Jack approached, it lifted its head, its body rattling with chains, and a bright bubble flared at its throat.
​
Then it opened its mouth.

---

Jack dodged, but what poured from the dragon’s throat was not fire. The hot liquid rushed over Jack’s ankles, cooling and hardening instantly. There he stood, awkwardly sideways to his foe, his feet completely frozen.
​
For a moment, Tollers’ words echoed through his head. “As the main character, the likelihood of dying is small, but it has happened before.”
 
The likelihood seemed a lot higher now.
 
If Jack died, would the story still be PG? He laughed at the irony.
 
The dragon crawled forward, chains clanking, nostrils spewing smoke so intense that Jack’s eyes watered.
 
Don’t panic, Jack. Think. What do you need to kill the dragon right now? But killing the dragon wouldn’t be PG either and anyway, you didn’t have to kill Medusa, did you? What if this dragon is more than it seems?
 
But he didn’t have time to think of the right anagram. Just as the dragon opened its mouth again, its eyes like black fire burning, Jack shouted, “Reveal your true self!” But, of course, what came out of his mouth was: “A truer love rules Fey.”
 
For a moment, nothing happened.
 
There, before his astonished eyes, the dragon melted into…
 
“Tollers?”
 
“At your service.” Tollers swept a low bow.
 
For some reason, Jack felt enormously irritated. “Seriously? ‘A truer love rules fey’? What does that even mean?”

“Fey is this land here,” Tollers’ gesture took in the whole castle, the field outside, “And you, by choosing to seek the dragon’s real self, demonstrated a truer love than simple love of yourself. You thought of someone else.”
 
Jack pointed at his trapped feet. “Stop moralizing and let me go. And seeing as my every word is not becoming some monstrous creature or death-trap, I assume that I’ve won?”
 
In answer, the bullfrog’s voice boomed from below. “Hail, Jack-of-all-trades! You have successfully passed all three trials and we declare you victor in the Festival of Heroes!”
 
“Look, they’re cheering for you,” Toller said, peering out the window.
 
“Tollers, my feet.”
 
“Oh, yes.” Tollers waved his pen distractedly and the amber-like substance melted from Jack’s feet. “Better hurry, Jack. They have your prize!”
 
“If the prize is as weird as this adventure, I’ll pass.”
 
“You can’t pass. You’re the hero! The people love you. Look, you even have the Minotaur in tears of joy. You can’t disappoint him.”
 
So Jack descended from the tower amidst a roar of applause and waving handkerchiefs. The other competitors glowered in the background, casting killing glances at Jack. Except, of course, Romeo, who had forgotten that anyone but Medusa existed the second he had caught sight of her amidst the crowd. The orange bullfrog dipped his wide head as Jack approached.
 
“Victor,” he intoned solemnly, “which box shall you choose?”

​Option 1
The box depicting an eye.
 
Option 2
The box depicting a pen.
 
Option 3
The box depicting a star.